


Take My Heart, Pull It Apart.

by Josaporta



Series: My Love Outweighs My Lust For You[r Blood] [2]
Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood and Gore, Not Actually Cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josaporta/pseuds/Josaporta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler was hungry, so he ate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Heart, Pull It Apart.

Tyler was _hungry_.

He hadn’t felt it like this in years, not since he’d first started to really feel the sort of hunger that only he and his mother did. It ached, deep in his stomach, and it was rolling, growling out pleas for him to feed it. The ‘people food’ was immensely unsatisfying and only left him hungrier than when he’d started trying to eat it.

But it wasn’t like he could just go out and do it like he needed to. He wasn’t the type to kill someone on a whim, it had to be just the right person, just the right time, just the right moment. And he had to be starving. He didn’t feel right, not like his mother did, just going out and picking someone. He didn’t have a family to think of, to stay sane for. And he was too empathetic. He felt too deeply and he didn’t like killing things. He never had.

His mom said that all of them were something like murderers, but that they still weren’t because it was for food.

He begged to differ. It _felt_ like murder.

So he could put off the hunger while they were touring, but it was after, when he was home with his mother who listened to his stomach growl with worried ears, that he could eat.

He couldn’t have done this on tour. Not around Josh, or Mark, or any of the others. It wasn’t even something that he wanted to do around Jenna.

And his decision not to eat like he needed to was as simple as that. He had to play at being human for as long and as often as he could. He could ignore the glances from Josh or Mark whenever his stomach growled, or the way Jenna’s face pinched in with concern. Most of them didn’t know. It was only luck that Josh knew, and Jenna wasn’t human.

But here-- home-- he could eat.

Tyler had never dealt well with his hunger, had always been too ravenous when he ate, and because of it he often took a long time to choose who he would devour. This time was an exception. He was too starved, too long, too much. He didn’t wait for his mother, he didn’t tell his family, he just went. Dressed in black so black that it wouldn’t stain with blood, in shoes that were the wrong size, he stalked through the streets.

It wasn’t hard to find someone who made his stomach growl and it was always easy to drag away someone smaller. He had sad eyes and a soft face. If they noticed he looked rumpled, starving, then they didn’t say anything. He lured a man away from his friends, encouraged by the man’s girlfriend.

They didn’t want her to go with him, despite her being the most sympathetic toward some poor, wretched person like him. They were wise to dissuade her, and drunken fools to send him.

The main problem Tyler faced when he wanted to really eat something was that he liked it warm. He liked people still warm and squirming, hearts pumping as they bled out. Oftentimes, though, they were bigger than him, because he needed a lot to eat to go so long between feedings. This one, though, was drunk and stupid. Perfect for his purpose, even if he didn’t like the way alcohol flavored the meat wrong.

He didn’t like the fight, though. It gave him time to consider what he was doing. It gave him time to realize that this was a human, a person, whose life he was about to end just because he was hungry. His mother had tried to instil in him the idea that he was a predator, that he didn’t have to worry about that, that it was natural and if humans were smart, they’d still be afraid of what she and Tyler were, but it had never worked. Tyler was too soft. He was too gentle, too sad, too emotional. He didn’t have the same backbone that she did when it came to these things, but he couldn’t piggyback off of her kills forever. He would have to find his own way of doing things, and he would have to do it sooner rather than later. The longer he went without eating, the worse he was at acting like a human and not snapping and gnashing his too sharp teeth at someone. He never trusted himself not to bite someone by mistake, not to leave crooked, bleeding marks embedded in someone’s skin.

He had to snap out of that. He was busy, fingers digging into the man’s throat from behind. He was broader than Tyler, but not taller, so Ty had some leverage over him. He could dig his fingers into his neck, add to the pressure and leave little tell tale marks of exactly what had been there. He could feel the way his throat closed off a little more with every exhale, the slow constriction dizzying. He didn’t want this man to die this way, though. He wanted him alive so he could really enjoy what was probably one of the last real meals he’d have this year. Even if there were two months left, he had to learn to go longer without. There couldn’t be a trail of bodies trailing

a tour, it would be too obvious, too dangerous.

Tyler waited for the man to mostly stop fighting back, and then he let go. He watched the way his victim gasped, eyes still fluttering and vision still debilitated; Otherwise, he’d have seen the brick Tyler was slamming into his head. Tyler hadn’t had time before, he’d fought too much. This was better, and he went limp.

Ty dragged him away like a leopard with an antelope, climbing straight up the fire escape of the most abandoned building nearby and taking him to the roof. It was easy to lift that much dead weight because he was a monster. He was a monster that was going to eat a person.

His stomach burbled at him, encouragingly.

A roof was a good place for this. On a roof he could take his time without the fear of getting caught by someone idly walking or driving by.

Tyler shoved his fingers into his victim’s mouth, pressing down hard into the back of his throat and then pushing it out. It bulged and he pressed until he could feel the bones under his fingers start to crack and break.

Being a monster came in handy times like these, when he needed to kill someone easily and quietly.

He broke his neck, carefully and without killing him. Then he waited, withdrawing his fingers and watching his victim slowly come back to consciousness. It was a bit of a process, and he made some interesting, throaty vocalizations.

Tyler had slipped into the predatory mode of his ancestors, watching with a distant interest and hunger and apathy.

“I broke your neck.” He said coolly, evenly. The man gurgled, an attempt at speech that was warped by the way Tyler had pressed on the inside of his throat. He hadn’t really been too careful with it. “You won’t be able to get up without killing yourself.” He was still disconnected, watching his prey with calculating eyes. “I’m trying to decide which part of you to eat first.”

He did this when he was too starved to really care. He fell into this sort of real savage thing that he knew his friends would hate him for, that his family wouldn’t truly understand-- that his mother would be proud of.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Josh he was a monster. He was.

It just didn’t always show.

“I’m going to eat you.” He continued, moving out of the way of flailing, panicked limbs. He jumped up, landing on his leg with a snap that ricocheted off of the surrounding buildings. He leaned down faster than he should have been able to when he was this hungry, smothering the scream that followed. “If you keep fighting it, I’ll make it hurt more.” His tone was low and threatening, and he knew that the next part would be agonizing, but the meal would pass out from the pain before Tyler really got to enjoying him.

He leaned down, ripping open the guy’s shirt in a move that would be considered sexual in any other context, but not here. This was nothing but violence, even if the roll of Tyler’s shoulders was careful and calculated. He knew how to work a human looking body. Even if he was stronger than that, he understood how to move so that he didn’t rip and tear at his own muscles as he pressed fingers into his chest. They tore into his skin, sinking in between his ribs.

It wasn’t hard to just yank back, the bone tearing through the flesh, blood spurting. The man made another gurgling noise in his throat, the noise more choked off than before as the pain closed up his vocal chords. He’d have let out a harsh, blood curdling scream otherwise. Tyler didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t need the unnecessary attention.

He was just _so hungry_.

He did that with the rest of his ribs. Unlike his mother, who would have simply broken them and opened him up from the center outward, Tyler liked a little bit of a mess. He liked to watch the skin rip in ways it was never meant to, and he liked to feel bones crack and shatter under his fingers. He liked being strong, being wild. A monster.

It was slick on his skin, but still sticky. Blood had a certain tackiness to it. It wasn’t exactly a smooth texture, and it made his fingers stick when he rubbed them together. But it was wet, and it was satisfying. He could almost purr about it, but he wasn’t sure that he was actually physically capable. He reached into the man’s chest, pulling away bone fragments slowly, letting the beat of his heart do the killing for him. He hadn’t noticed when he’d passed out from the pain, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered now was sticky, sweet, and at his fingertips.

Tyler spread his fingers against the exposed sternum, wrapping them around slowly, carefully, and then yanked back, taking with him the rest of his ribcage. After that, it wasn’t as much fun. There wasn’t much he could do to play, considering how much he’d already torn apart. He grabbed the two sides of the opening seam of the wound, pulling them apart and listening to skin and muscle and fat all tear apart, down from his chest to his navel. He wasn’t one to eat the limbs. He just like the soft, mushy insides. They were easier on his stomach.

He dipped his fingers in, ripping veins from muscle easily, pulling them out of the way. They were too stringy, got caught in his teeth. He pulled at the muscle between the ribs, slowly bringing it up to his mouth. He always liked to savor the first few bites. It was warm and wet and sweet. He would avoid the liver, and the blood tasted a little off from the alcohol content, but he’d eat his fill on lungs and the heart. Maybe the brain if he felt like cracking the skull open.

He dug into the gore, letting it soak over his fingers in between mouthfulls of flesh and the odd bone chip. The squishing sounds were loud on the quiet rooftop, the dark only getting darker as he ate his fill on mostly muscle. He tore the lungs out carefully, then the heart. He ripped away veins and arteries and broke them when he needed to, taking it out gingerly and setting it on the lower half of the corpse’s stomach. Whatever was left of it, at least. The larger part of it was shredded, torn into, and bloodied.

He took his time through the lungs, ripping up small chunks and eating them slowly. He didn’t want to gorge himself or he’d just be sick, and that was never good. He’d hate to have spent all that time getting it ready only to puke it back up. He hated that feeling, on a full stomach especially.

It wasn’t until he got to the heart that he let himself really feast on it. He tore it apart with his teeth, hardly bothering with trying to maintain bites that were easier to swallow. He just ate. He ate and ate and ripped it apart until his stomach was finally full.

It felt so good to be full again.

**Author's Note:**

> I lied here's Tyler eating someone.
> 
> College au coming soon to a theater near you.


End file.
